This is the Movement of the Century
by WholockAllThings
Summary: John Watson is still recovering after Sherlock's death, when he finds out about the "Believe in Sherlock" movement, and decides to help.


_I believe in Sherlock Holmes._

Dr. John Watson stared at the words on the wall in amazement. He touched the paint. Yellow, exact same as the one used in _The Blind Banker_ case. It was also still wet. He looked about the alleyway, but there was no one there. He picked up his shopping and continued walking back to his flat.

He'd moved out of Baker Street. It was too hard for him to stay there now. Too many memories. He did stop by every so often to check on Mrs Hudson. They have tea and biscuits. Mrs Hudson would always try to get him to talk about Sherlock, but John would always change the subject. He lived with Stamford now, grudgingly. Mycroft and Lestrade had ganged up on him a few months after Sherlock's death, forcing him to get up and do something. He'd spiralled for a while. Little _too_ much alcohol for one man. He was in hospital for three weeks.

As he walked home, a poster caught his eye. When he saw the picture, he nearly dropped his bags and ran. On the poster was Moriarty's face with the caption:

_Richard Brook= FRAUD. Moriarty was REAL._

He gazed at it, feeling happy, touched, sad, and confused all at once. He took the poster down from the pole, and walked the rest of the way home.

He didn't talk to Mike as he entered the flat. He dumped the bags down in the kitchen and went straight to his room, pulling out his laptop. He takes the poster out of his pocket and finding the website address he saw. Immediately was he blown away by the amount of stuff people had been doing to support his best friend. Several posts had pictures of posters and flyers, and graffiti all over the place. And not just from London. There was pictures from the U.S, Egypt, Poland, Denmark, Switzerland, Canada, everywhere.

And for a moment he can't breathe. He's so _touched_, by all the support that is being given. He reads posts from old clients. Henry Knight's name pops out at him, and he takes a moment to read the post,

"_It saddens me to know that people think Mr. Holmes was a fraud. Because he wasn't. He was the most brilliant man that I have ever met. He knew from when I was a client before I'd even stepped in the door. He knew that I had gotten on the first train from Devon and had a disappointing breakfast. He knew I smoked. He knew I hadn't smoked that day. He knew that the girl I'd met on the train fancied me, and that I'd lost interest. He knew all of this about me, and I had never met this man before in my life. Does that sound like the work of a fraud to you? He solved the case I had brought him, and did my father justice. And I thank him for that. You can read what happened on Dr. John Watson's blog, which brings me onto what I want to say next. John, if you're reading this, I want you to know I still believe, we still believe, in Mr. Holmes. We haven't given up. You changed my life, the both of you. And I thank you. Sherlock Holmes was no fraud. He was a brilliant man. And I owe him my life. - Henry Knight BELIEVES IN SHERLOCK HOLMES."_

John found himself crying as he read this, and many posts like it. They all believed, even after all the press had said about him… John logged into his account, and made a post to the page. He explained who he was, and what had really happened in those few months before Sherlock's death. He told them all how touched he was about all the things they've done for Sherlock, and that he'll help in any way he could. He posted this, and went to bed. He'd been reading those posts for hours, it was well past midnight before he went to sleep.

The nightmares came back again that night.

Every night since Sherlock fell from Barts, John's had nightmares. And they're always the same. He sees Sherlock fall from the roof top, he sees Moriarty's face EVERYWHERE. He'd barley slept for months. He'd wake up every morning, crying. But this morning it was different.

He wasn't going to wallow in self pity.

He believes in Sherlock Holmes. He needs to help.

He got out of bed at 4am on a Sunday morning nearing the middle of December, freezing cold, and checked his laptop.

His post made 5000 notes in 4 hours.

Barely able to talk, he scrolls through and looks at some of the comments.

"_We believe you, Dr. Watson. What a story!"_

"_Makes me believe in Sherlock even more, thank you John."_

"_Please do help the movement, Dr. Watson, we could use your help."_

Pulling on a hoodie and some jeans, John headed out onto the streets of London, and didn't return until late that evening.

Within the next four months, Dr. Watson is arrested three times for vandalism and violence (Namely, anyone whom he hears bad mouthing Sherlock gets a punch in the face). 200 hours of community service later, John's back on the streets. Painting the town yellow in graffiti, quite literally.

The movement has grown to a phenomenal scale. Pretty much everyone in the country knows about the movement now. It's rare to find someone in London who doesn't know what's going on, and all the ones who do have some sort of opinion.

One evening, John's flicking through the channels when a news headline pops out at him,

"_This is the movement of the century." _

The newswoman goes on to explain about the movement, and what it's trying to achieve.

"…_The trackable tag on twitter (#BelieveInSherlock) is one of the most trending topics ever. It's hard to find anyone anywhere without an opinion of the stories. Personally? I believe. Back to you in the studio Bob."_

John smiled to himself as he watched the report. After a moment, he realised it was being broadcasted on BBC Worldwide. _Bigger audience. More people for the movement._ he thought. He turned off the TV and went back to his laptop. He basically lived on the Internet now, the movement was most popular there. It was the best source of information on the topic. However that night something caught his eye. And then made his blood go cold in shock.

_SHERLOCK LIVES._

Thinking it could be a long of shit, he tried to ignore it. He left the flat to take a walk, taking his can of paint a long with him as always. However as he walked along the words leaped out at him again. This time, right across a block of flats, in massive letters, in _The Blind Banker_ paint:

_SHERLOCK LIVES._

He can't ignore it this time. He has to check. He's got to. He runs all the way to Baker Street and enters immediately, not bothering knocking. He ascends the stairs three at a time and soon he's in the flat. Their flat. It's so dark, he can't make anything out, but his heart stops at the sound of a voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"Hello John."


End file.
